As Far As I Can
by PMFM
Summary: It was a usual morning writing assignment given by Simmons, only more. The topic that stetches over a few days brings forgotten memories to unveil themselves infront of the many characters. This chptr: Lila
1. Simmons: The Assigner

As Far As I Can...

Heeeeeeere's Phebga! Johnny Carson rip-off, but I've been watching VH1 all day! Well, I got this idea during the Summer Beach House when 'Helga on the Couch' came on. I ran the idea through (between my brain and Briana... hey, we're buds! And only just a little, okay? She's got to read it when it's done, too. Why am I talking about this?) and it evolved into something totally different from what I began with. I was just going to have different perspectives on the same thing, but decided this might be even better! I really hope this is more successful than my previous fics. By the way, Chat room 118 got pulled off because it was 'based on a chat'. THAT WAS GONNA BE THE ONLY CHAPTER WITH THAT IN IT!! ~Regains self-control~ So, here we go! 

When an assignment is given, it takes the students down a certain street... Memory Lane!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold, the characters, events, and any type of noun created and/or owned by Craig Bartlett, Viacom, Snee-Osh, and Nickelodeon. I'm only but a fan of it all. But Professor Trelawny predicted that I'd one day raid the studios, take all of them hostage, and use Lord Voldemort to gain the ownership and rule the animation world with my faithful pet kitty! Oh, come on, it was so formal; you knew I'd twist it to my own insane ways! Plus, I've grown into my Harry Potter fanaticism when the 5th book... you know the story. I'm done, now. READ! 

A/N: This is pre-movie, okay?

Prelude

The bell rang. The bell was a symbol of so many children's enslavement to the captivity of desks, paper, pencils, books, binders, and seven hours of lectures with only the half hour freedom that was consumed by, well, consuming lunch. For a certain class on the second floor, however, it meant an entire day's worth of the word 'special'.

"Hello, class!" Mr. Simmons, a cheerful, balding blond, mid-thirties man recited to about seventeen nine-year-olds.

"Good morning, Mr. Simmons," droned the class in the usual monotone sound that Simmons was one to fall short of noticing.

Smiling in the usual chipper way, he walked over to the desk and but his black briefcase on top of it.

"Well, let's get started into the special day!"

The class said nothing.

Clearing his thought, the teacher of the class said, "Ahem, yes, well, I have a very special topic for your morning writing assignments. Yes, I know, usually I allow you all to lurk into your special minds to see what you can write out-of-the-blue, but I think that this will be an enriching writing experience for you all!"

Once again, the class said nothing, but a few of the students were paying attention, if not vaguely, except for a few. The turn of the usual "take out your pencils and write what you're feeling this special morning" routine had some of the children wondering what exactly Simmons had in mind.

Seeing that some of his students were, in fact, being at least slightly attentive, told him to continue on. "Well," he said, drawing up dramatic tension (or what he thought it was), "I thought that you could write about your furthest and first memories, the first thing you remember about your life. It must be the very first one, and you can tell of it in any form you choose."

Now there were more than a few wide eyes, surprised (and a few other emotions) at what their teacher was proposing them to do.

"Now, I realize that for some of you..." A choice few of students sighed in relief, until... "might think of it hard to write this..." They slumped back into their chairs... "in such a short period of time. That is why I'm extending this assignment to be your English homework as well, and making it due in exactly one week."

Some of the choice few remained as they were, in a relieved mood, but the rest either widened their eyes or rolled them.

"All he you have to do," Mr. Simmons explained, "is to think back as far as you can and write what is there. Do it as specially well as you can, too, because this will be a major part of this nine-weeks English grade! So go back in that special brain of yours as far as you might and perhaps pick up your average!" All of this news was said in an excited way. It almost covered up the fact that if they didn't do well on this project, they're English grade for this nine-weeks would drop a tad or more, most likely the latter.

Smiling, Mr. Simmons looked at his class expectantly.

"Well," he said. "Get started!"

~*~

She looked down to her blank piece of paper. Usually this part of the day was a breeze. She just had to write something about her mushy thoughts on her crush and she'd receive and A+, along with a form of humiliation. Looking to past experience, she didn't exactly feel like putting what, at first thought, was her first and one of her favorite memories down on a paper Mr. Simmons would be reading. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her teeth, trying to think of something before or around that day, but she couldn't think of anything before and most things shortly after were related to the first subject!

She tore a piece of her blank white paper off and stuck it in her mouth, pulling out a long, wide straw in the process, but then spit it back into her hand and tossed it over her shoulder. It landed between her desk and Nadine's. She didn't exactly feel in the mood to take place in her usual classroom activities when her brain was tied in such a knot.

'I'll think of something later,' she thought, leaning back in her chair and pretending to write, while instead she doodled.

~*~

He sighed. It was quite easy to remember what he had just recently dreamed about. In fact, he wrote down every memory that came from that story, but he only jotted notes on it in his journal, and he had no idea how he'd transform thoughts from almost a lifetime ago into words for this paper to have a satisfied serving. Mr. Simmons had, occasionally, given topics for them to write on, and he usually did well, but they weren't as personal as this. He really didn't know how to write it.

Instinctively, he turned around. He didn't know why.

All he saw was the rest of his classmates chewing on their pencil erasers, brainstorming, writing feverishly, or staring up at the ceiling, thinking. He decided to join the latter group and laid his pencil down on his desk.

~*~

She closed her eyes in sadness and rested her face in her hand, slowly and almost unnoticeably shook her head. She smirked at the irony of it all, even though her insides were suddenly twisted when she thought about it. She took her thumb and index finger and rubbed them from the bridge of her nose down to her freckled cheeks. She hadn't ever told anyone her first memory, not even her closest friends. She had pushed it back, forgetting all about it and moving on. She became so happy once she had stopped thinking on it. Her old friends had of course known about it, because back then she could tell them, but she had never told her new friends because, one, she never wanted to think about it, and two, she didn't know how for certain they'd take it. And yet, in the place that she and one other had thought would take their mind off of it forever, she was suddenly reminded when she thought back. Deciding to wait until tonight to start, she took out her math homework and looked over it.

~*~

He most certainly did recall a few of his earlier reminiscences quite clearly. It was when he was five. He knew exactly how to write it. He started right away. It would be an amazing work of art, and perhaps he would get incredibly rich from it, perhaps change it a bit and become as famous as J. R. Tolkien! But he had to start on it soon, or else the effects of this inspiration would leave him forever!

~*~

Later that day... well, actually, later in the evening, for school had been out for about two hours, Mr. Simmons was still sitting in his classroom, going over lesson plans and homework, when a woman with rich brown hair cut short and a purple dress walked into the room, tapping on the open door. "Mr. Simmons?" she asked. "May I have a word with you?"

Looking up, the teacher smiled welcomingly, with a small hint of nervousness. "Yes, Dr. Bliss?"

The school psychiatrist walked into the room, holding her clipboard and sitting down in a desk in the front row. "Mr. Simmons, I'd like to talk to you about the assignment you gave your class this morning. The one about the memories."

Mr. Simmons furrowed his eyebrows and questioned, "How did you know I assigned that this morning, Dr. Bliss?"

She smiled, amused. "Word gets around the school, Mr. Simmons. Actually, I overheard Rhonda talking to a friend about it." She leaned forward, getting to the point.

Well, this is it. I know one or more of those little student parts were obvious, but hopefully one wasn't! Guess what? It's 1:30 in the morning/late night. This wasn't all, there'll be more chapters! Review and tell me what you think of it. That whole Bliss/Simmons conversation will finish in the next chapter, okay? Good. I'll update as soon as I can!

Phebga Madame Fortress Mommy 


	2. Pataki: The Soft Bully

As Far As I Can...

Got the rest right here, people! You know, I just thought of something. Wouldn't it be beyond cool if Craig Bartlett or someone from the show found this Website and reviewed all the stories? ~Sigh~ One can only dream. Well, I suppose you guys should start reading the rest of the fic now! Hope y'all like it (and tell me so).

Disclaimer: Oh, hey Professor Trelawny! Thanks for telling me that prediction about the Hey Arnold stuff. What did you say? You mean the prediction wasn't about Hey Arnold? Well, than, what was it about? What am I going to own, then? Fine, then, let's go to that stupid crystal ball of yours. I better not have booked the Dark Lord for nothing! 

Chapter One

"Mr. Simmons," started Dr. Bliss. "Don't you think that the assignment you handed out was a little bit personal? Most of our earliest memories help mold who we are."

~*~ 

Helga was sitting at her desk in her room. 'Blurry' by Puddle of Mudd played from the radio at a small volume. She was leaning back, her head hanging over the edge, rubbing her temples. 'Think, Helga, think! What's a memory that has nothing to do with that? What's something I can hand into Simmons without humiliating myself beyond my imagination!'

She sat back up and leaned over her paper. All she had written was the title, 'As Far As I Can Remember'. This wasn't like her. English was her best subject! She was planning on Majoring in either Creative

Writing or English Literature or something like that. She should be writing holes into the wood of her desk! Why wasn't she now?

Well, that was an incredibly stupid question. She didn't want to tell Mr. Simmons her earliest memory, for the fact that it was much too personal. To face certain humiliation, even if for one person besides Dr. Bliss, was out of the question.

What was she fretting over? She had six more days to finish a simple paper on a memory! She could take a break to work on... wait, she had already passed the time with her other homework. Right now it was eight o' clock. She took a thirty-minute break for dinner, however. So... what would she do? This project had wracked her brain of all things beside itself.

Standing up, she wallowed over to her bed and fell onto it, exhausted mentally and annoyed that she couldn't think of anything. 

Helga's mind started to drift once she lay down on her bed. She didn't fall asleep, but what she was trying to find an alternative to was biting her on the butt. Or at least her mind.

~*~

A small, three-year-old girl in pink overalls and a matching bow atop her still wet pigtails was walking carefully down the stairs so she wouldn't trip. She had just taken a bath because it was her first day of

pre-school. It was drizzling a bit outside. 

She walked into the kitchen, where the remnant of the scent of fried eggs still existed. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and smiled. She opened them and realized that neither of her parents were cooking anything or eating anything. It was then that she heard a piano playing almost professionally. She let go of her smile and walked into the den, where she saw her mother and father smiling down at Helga's older sister, Olga. She walked up to them and when Olga was

done, she tugged on her mother's dress.

"Mommy? Mommy," she said until her mother looked down at her. "Mommy, where's breakfast? I smelleded eggs." 

"Oh, Helga," said the mother, "we ran out of eggs while cooking breakfast for Olga and Daddy and me."

"Go ahead, Olga," said her father, ignoring Helga, "play another piece."

Nodding, Olga looked back at the piano keys and began playing and her parents' attention was transferred back to the older daughter.

Helga sighed and tugged at her father's pants leg. "Daddy, what am I gonna have for bweakfast?" 

Still looking at Olga's playing, he mumbled, "Huh? Oh, um, there are Pop-Tarts on the counter, Olga."

She rolled her eyes as well as a three-year-old can. "I'm Helga, Dad. My name's Helga."

"Yeah, whatever."

Sighing again, she walked out of the den and back into the kitchen. She pushed a chair up against the counter, climbed on it, and pulled out two Pop-Tarts from the box. She climbed down, pushed the chair over by the toaster, and put them in. She walked over to the refrigerator and took out a juice box. she put the popped Pop-Tarts on a plate and sat at the table to

eat. When she had finished her small breakfast, she walked over to the counter once again, climbed on the chair, and took her lunchbox from it. she climbed down and walked back into the den.

"Play us another one, Olga."

"I know! How about the (I'm not sure about this) Arcadian Waltz by Chopin?"

"Ah, I love that one!"

"Yeah, you should hear her play Bee-thov-in, Miriam."

She tugged on her dad's legs again. "Daddy," she asked, "who's gonna take me to pwe-school?"

"Huh? Oh, in a minute, Olga."

"No, I'm Helga, Dad. Helga!"

"Yeah, okay."

Miriam leaned over and hugged her older daughter's head. "Oh, can you believe, it, B? Concert pianist at

age fifteen; class valedictorian!"

"Yeah," he pointed to the trophy shelf, "and she's won every stinking spelling bee in the whole dang city!"

Helga tried again to get her father's attention. "Daddy! Who's gonna take me to pwe-school?"

"In a minute, Olga!"

The music stopped as Helga walked out of the room. She knew he dad wasn't going to take her to school, and

she didn't want to be late for her first day.

"Well, what do you know? One minute flat. Play another one, Olga."

Helga opened the door and a gust of cold, wet wind came in to greet her. She turned around and yelled,

"I'm going to pwe-school now!" trying to see if they would react. When they didn't, she started closing the door. "I'M GOING TO PWE-SCHOOL NOW!"

She walked down the stoop with her head down, trying to remember which way the school was. She turned right and started walking in the rain. Her hair became wet once again. She made it to a road crossing, where a few of the adults looked down at her. Why were they looking at her? She was only three.

A car passed and an upshot of muddy water hit her, making her overalls filthy. So much for a clean first

day.

Walking down the last block before the school, she heard a dog growl. A big, brown mutt walked up, bit her lunchbox, and yanked it out of her hand. She fell backward and hurt herself. "Ow," she whispered, starting to cry.

She stood up, and sulked the rest of the way to her pre-school. She didn't have a lunch, so she hoped that the morning and afternoon snacks would be enough to fill her up. She was still crying, her head still down, when she reached the school. She was wiping off her face so that it would seem she wasn't crying when

suddenly...

The rain stopped. 

She looked up to see an umbrella over her head, and then turned to see where it had come from. A small boy with a really big head was smiling at her. Why was he smiling at her?

"Hi," he said. "I like your bow."

That surprised her. Why was he talking about her bow?

"Huh?"

"I like your bow," he said again, "cuz its pink, like your pants." When the two had made it underneath the

small extending part of the roof, he took down his umbrella and walked inside. Helga stayed behind and

took a closer look at the boy. She sighed.

Later, to put a long story short, the boy paid Helga another good deed when Harold stole her morning snack and ate it in front of her by offering his. Harold made fun of Helga for looking at the boy 'that way', which made Helga angry. She attacked him as well as a three-year-old could attack a seven-year-old. She made it out that none of her peers would ever even try to hurt her feelings or make fun of her ever again. Yet, however mean she was to that little boy, she always had a soft spot for him, which she couldn't fully understand then, but seemed to.

~*~

"There is absolutely NO WAY I'm writing that down on paper!" Helga, the present one, said to herself

angrily. "I've got to think of something else to write about!" She jumped off her bed and walked over to her desk. "But what?"

~*~

"I think that it'll do my class good to revisit such a special memory," said Mr. Simmons. "Perhaps it will actually help them think about who they are."

So... how do you like it? I hope you do. I really do! Seriously, but I shall never know unless you tell me. I'm not a psychic! **No, but your a psycho.**  Be quiet! Wait, that's true. **See?**  What did I tell you, woman? **You said that I'm the queen of the world.**  Yes, I... hey, wait a minute! Tsk, whatever, just review... I have a score to settle. **Um...

should I run?**  Yes, you should.

Five minutes later:

**Um... Phebga is a very good writer, even if her attempts may be insane at some times, but to show your ~squints at the paper~... constant devotion and love of her work, what is this? ...Ow! Okay, then. Review this story.**  You see what work I have to deal with? 

Phebga Madame Fortress Mommy (and Briana, who now knows not to mess with her insane friend who is VERY protective of her work) Thank you! 


	3. Unavailable: Dream of the Jungle

As Far As I Can

Welcome back, guys! Anyway, you guys, this is probably going to be the last memory I took from an episode, all right? Originality is on the way! I'm glad you guys like it. You know who you are… **Don't freak the readers out, Phebga.** I'll do what I please!

Disclaimer: Okay, Professor, what do you see? You see me with Voldemort in front of what building? The… PBS station? What am I going to get from them? Oh… oh, no, this is horrible! Perfect! Who wants to own genetically mutated, alienist beings with funky things shooting from their head and no vocabulary skills? Everyone will be running from them trying not to get the Television Tummy disease! Teletubbies? Wait… hey… ~evil grin~ Oh, Voldie? Snuffles? Want to have some fun?

Chapter Two

"I realize that factor, Mr. Simmons," said Dr. Bliss, "but I'm looking at the fact that they are probably going to be incredibly personal to your students, and then the fact that it's a school assignment…"

~*~

Arnold was sitting at his computer desk with Microsoft Word open, but with nothing but blank white on it. He was tapping his fingers on his desk impatiently. 

"Think," he said to himself. "Come on, think."

He knew what his first memory was, but it was so long ago… he'd had so many recent jolts that kicked the memories up, but now, when he absolutely _had_ to recall them, all he could get was a blurry picture. There was no way he could remember enough to make a suitable essay on it. 

Easy jazz played in the background. He had scribbled down a few details, but it was far the writing process.

The radio started to play a slower jazz song. Arnold was leaning over his desk, whispering to himself to get his mind going. He didn't realize that his head was drifting lower and his eyes were drooping…

~*~

It was dark. It was green. There was dim light coming down from in between the trees. His hands and knees were being lightly poked by braches and brush. 

He reached a tall wall made of even thicker trees. He leaned back and sat on his bottom, looking up.

Something hissed, and he looked around. A long, green and red thing came out with no legs. The boy laughed when he saw the animal reach his head up and look at him. It was funny; this no-legged animal was standing up in front of him! He giggled again.

He heard other noises behind him, but they were faint, and the animal was just too funny. Then, all of a sudden, it went back down. He patted his knees, and suddenly, he felt hands around his belly. He was picked up. He turned around and saw a man with messy blond hair and blue eyes. He turned around and the animal was gone.

He heard his mom and dad talk, and then they went back inside of their cabin. They seemed sad, but he was sad that the weird creature was gone.

The next day, his mom and dad were seen talking with their friend. Later, he saw them putting things from their home into big bags and suitcases. The next day, he sat on the big bed that he shared with the two other people. He watched, curiously, as they placed many glass objects into cases, clothing into suitcases, and any other items. They still looked sad.

His father sat down on the bed and sighed. Arnold crawled over to him and sat in his lap, wanting to make him un-sad. His dad looked down at him and smiled a little bit. "Hey, fellow," he said. "Are you ready to go and see your grandma and grandpa?"

He smiled and hugged his dad's big arm. His mom sat down next to them and placed her hand gently on his dad's shoulder. "We better get going," she said. "We have a long way to go to get to the airport."

"Yeah," said his dad, picking him up and handing him to his mom. He picked up a suitcase and walked to the front of the small cabin-like structure. "We don't want to be late."

A Hispanic man walked in with a large hat in his hands. He placed it on his chest and sighed. "It has been wonderful," he said solemnly, "to have you two as a friend. I will miss you terribly."

His dad smiled and patted the man on the back. "So will we, Eduardo. You know that we had no choice."

"Yes, I know," he agreed. "And the reason was quite a good one." He looked at the baby boy and ruffled his hair. "The miracle baby, huh?"

"Yeah," said his mom. "And now his gets to meet his grandma and grandpa, don't you, Arnold?" she asked, kissing his nose. He giggled.

There was a long silence. Arnold didn't like it, so he reached up and grabbed his mother's hat. They all laughed with him as he put it on his head (or tried to). Then they sighed and looked sad again.

"Well," said his mom, "I guess we have to say goodbye now."

"Yep," said his dad. "I'm really going to miss tripping over the tree roots, but it'll save me a lot of worry." He picked up the suitcases again and piled them onto the small wooden trailer. A small piglet came running up to them, oinking like crazy. Arnold looked at him and giggled again at his pet. "Oh, can't forget you, can we Abner?" his dad said. He heaved him onto the trailer, too.

His mother handed him to his father and walked over. She kissed Eduardo on the cheek. "We will see you again, Eduardo," she said. Then, she got up on the trailer and the started to pull onto the road.

Arnold looked back at his little cabin, wondering why they were going away. He reached out to try to get it, but his father pulled him back. He made a little wave with his hand and curled into his arms.

~*~

Arnold gasped as he woke up. He looked around to find that it was, in fact, still nighttime. His eyes wandered to the clock. He had been asleep for only forty-five minutes.

It was then that he realized that he held a notepad and pencil in his hand. He read it quickly and found that somehow, miraculously, he had written his dream down almost word for word. His eyes widened as he saw it all, as though he were living it at that moment. How something that happened when he was one come back in such a vivid dream blew him away.

But, then again, he had something to write, and it wasn't as personal as his original idea, so maybe if he tweaked it ever so slightly…

He pulled up to his computer again and began to type out his dream as fast as he could before it drifted away.

~*~

"… It may imply some pressure on your student."

"I gave them assignments of this nature all the time, Doctor Bliss. It's only now that I've asked them to look deeper inside themselves."

Dr. Bliss. Placed her hand daintily on her cheek. She was still worried. She knew there was nothing wrong with the assignment, she just had a premonition that the students felt that this was different than their average assignments.

So, you likie or you don't likie? Talk to me by means of the review button.

Your Resident Insanity Asylum Member

Phebga Madame Fortress Mommy


	4. Sawyer: Forgotten Heritage

As Far As I Can

SO SORRY SO SORRY SO FREAKING SORRY! Been preoccupied with Harry Potter, Teen Titans, and the ever-entrancing Quizilla for oh so long. Weeps at feet of very few readers who don't really care Forgive me? Steve… yes I know I took forever to update. DON'T MAKE THE PAIN ANY WORSE! DON'T TELL MOMMY!

Anyways, here's the first one not based on a previous episode. Kind of what I imagine to be her past. Agree, or no?

Disclaimer: (I promised it'd continue!) Okay, you all know what to do, right? Po, Tinky-Winky, you go through the ventilation system and with the detailed digital map inside of your TVs, you should find the rights to Hey Arnold! Once we're given the cue, me and La La will distract the guards while the Dark Lord pops inside and destroys those pesky patents, lawyers, and the great but disagreeable Mr. Bartlett… you know what, just petrify him Tom, I kind of want him to give us the credit himself, which also means an Unforgivable Curse, and you like those, dontcha? Dipsy and Snuffles will guard the home front, and when we run out of the place with the rights to Hey Arnold, why, we'll be RICH!

Listen, Dr. Bliss, trust me when I say this," said Mr. Simmons. "Don't you think that it's healthy for people to look back at their origins to help figure out who they are?"

Bliss smirked at him and leaned back. "You're using my subject against me, Simmons."

"Perhaps so." He checked his watch absentmindedly and looked back to her. "But I'd like it if you answered my question."

"Thanks, Daddy, that's was a really good dinner," said Lila as she stepped into her bedroom. "I have to finish my homework now, though. It should take me a very long time. Good night." Lila shut the door behind her, grasping the doorknob behind her back and falling against it. She took a long breath and regained her posture, stopping her forlorn mood from developing.

It wasn't like Mr. Simmons to give them such difficult tasks for homework. Well, if you thought about it, most of them were past the fourth grade level of thought, but she usually was able to do them without such trouble. This assignment required so much _reminiscing _of a part of her life she honestly never wanted to remember.

It was especially something she didn't want her teacher to read. Some things just had to be kept private, even if few else was.

Nothing left to do now but write it, however. She sat at her desk and fingered a small statuette of a fairy she'd bought at Hot Topic… it wasn't necessarily her scene, but when she heard Amy Brown merchandise was sold there she had to literally force Rhonda into going inside alone. She also had to prevent her from drawing any further attention to themselves by exclaiming how completely insane some of the fashions inside were. There she was daydreaming again. She didn't like daydreaming usually. Staying focused on the present was much healthier, that she'd learned long ago.

"Come on, Lila, you can do this," she said encouragingly to herself. "It's very simple. Find a childhood memory from as far back as you could remember and write it down. Not hard at all."

So which one was her first memory? She had so many of them from her small farmhouse, how was she to choose one? Maybe when she got her first ever pony… no, that wasn't far back enough. Perhaps she could write about when her and her cat Marigold got lost in the nearby woods when she was four.

Yes, maybe she should write about that. It was interesting, just a little scary, utterly adorable, and also had a happy ending. She reached in to her backpack and pulled out her English notebook, opened it to a fresh clean page and jotted down the memory in the form of a story, as well as she could write it. She didn't write often, but reviewing it, it didn't look half bad.

She looked up to her shelf, where a clock hung. It was about ten minutes past nine. Her father was most likely asleep by now, and she had time to brush her teeth and comb her hair before she went to bed. Five minutes later she flipped off her lights, save for a small, red, heart shaped lamp she kept on her bed stand. She gazed into it sleepily until she fell in to her dreams, where usually they were rather enjoyable. Tonight, however, was a dreadful exception.

She could hear the children around her run around. Playing stickball, catch, and all sorts of sports that Lila never enjoyed playing. She didn't see them, however, because she was far off to the side, looking at the ground. Her braided ponytail was blown into her face by the wind. She smiled softly, remembering the horses she loved so much at her neighbor's farm. They were the only people who didn't make fun of her for being so girly.

Even at the age of five, most of the girls were already tomboys from their life in the rural area, and whenever they saw her with her favorite doll or her plastic horses, they gave her mean looks. They never talked to her or tried to be friends like Lila did. It made her sad.

The bell at the front of their small schoolhouse was struck finally, and the students all ran to the front happily. Lila knelt down and picked up her favorite plastic horse, Jasper, and followed them to the front, where their parents waited to walk or drive them home.

Lila looked around for her mother, who was usually in their old blue car. She bit her lip, worried that she would be left alone and have to walk home. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her side, and she winced holding back tears. She looked up and saw her biggest bully, Jenny, sneering down at her is disapproval. "Go home and play with your dollies already," she said.

Lila frowned and looked at the ground in shame. Why was everyone so mean?

So she sat down on the school steps and waited for her mother to come. She waited until only her schoolteacher was left in the schoolyard. Lila started to cry when her teacher ran inside to pick up the phone that was ringing. "I hate it here," she whispered. "I hate it."

She heard pounding feet behind her and someone grabbed her from behind. It was her teacher. She didn't notice Lila was crying, but said, "I'm sorry, Miss Sawyer. You have to come with me in my car now."

"You're taking me home?" she asked the teacher. "Where's my mommy?"

The teacher thinned out her lips and said, "I'm taking you to your daddy right now. We're going to the hospital." She carried Lila to her car and sat her in the backseat. Lila looked up at her, worried. Where did her mommy go? Why was she in her teacher's car? Why didn't daddy just come and get her? What was happening at the hospital in the city nearby?

It took ten minutes for them to get there. Lila spent the whole time playing with her horse, fingering it as if it were glass. Finally, someone opened her car door. She looked up and saw the familiar face of her father.

"Daddy!" she cried, jumping into his arms smiling. "Where were you? Where ever is Mommy?"

He ran a finger around her braid and said, "I'm sorry honey… mommy got hurt by a bad man on her way to school. You remember what we've said about when good people die they go to heaven, right?" Lila saw a tear roll down his face. "Well, mommy's in heaven now."

Lila stared at her father with her mouth open. She had never seen him cry… and her mother wasn't here anymore.

She dropped her horse to the ground and stared up at him. She wiped his face dry. "It's okay, Daddy," she said through her tears. "Heaven's a good place to be, right?"

"Yes, sugar, it is," he said. He set her down on the ground and the two of them walked in to the hospital's small emergency room.

"Wait, Daddy!" she yelled quickly, running to where she had dropped the horse. She picked it up and grasped it tightly to her chest. Mommy gave this to me, she thought quietly.

The sounds of someone walking around outside her room woke Lila up. It was still dark outside. It was her father, walking around at night like he would do sometimes. She snuck up on him once and saw what he would do.

She easily fell asleep, and when she awoke the next day, she didn't remember that she'd been tossing in her bed all night from her tragic memory.

"Of course I agree with you, I already said earlier the same thing," said Dr. Bliss. "But as I said, this isn't the point. The children are only going to feel offended if you read their memories, written on paper by them."

"Haven't you come across the possibility that my class won't be entirely honest in what their first memories are?"

A/N: sigh Briana's bothering me to tell you all: Explanations is finally out of its incredibly LONG slump, Through the Compact Disc is actually FINISHED, and Valentine's Day II is about to get started again. It's just all on her mom's boyfriend's laptop and he has some weird Internet connection he can't get here or no floppy drive or something. Now, for MY news! Grumbles at Briana I had a somewhat short lived social life worth speaking about, that's all the kept me really besides my lack of will power. Also, Easter's my next favorite holiday to Halloween and Christmas: all of the chocolate. My mother unknowingly brought about the destruction of her own sanity by giving me three really big Pixie Stixs. The foolishness! I ask if all of the Teen Titans fans reading this go check out The Next Element, almost done with it's third installment.

You Resident Insane Asylum Member

Phebga Loves Madame Fortress Mommy aka… dundundun go see meh profile


End file.
